My husband and I haven’t slept solidly through the night since that one time my mom took the girls overnight. We had no idea that having babies had made us lightweights, so we found ourselves wildly drunk off a glass of wine as we stumbled our way back to the Old Market Marriott.

The next day my friend asked how our hotel stay was with a coy little wink. I grabbed her hand and leaned in, “Girl, I can’t even begin to describe it. The pillows were incredible! The sleeping just kept going — ALL NIGHT LONG!”

When I realized what she was actually referring to, I cleared my throat and said, “Oh, yeah. That was good too.”

If it’s not teething, then someone gets a cold, throws up, poops or just wakes up yelling “Mom? Mooooom? Hello? Mom? Dad?” Because I don’t know — why not?

But now things are getting weird.

Our youngest caught a mild cold this week that made her fussy through the night. Every night. Just yesterday, she started coughing, but after each cough she would cry out. Finally after a few rounds of her coughs we decided to bring her into our bed to sooth her.

Trouble is, I think she thought our invite to rest in our bed was actually an invite to a wild frat party because she proceeded to take up 99 percent of my pillow, hoot, holler, laugh at who knows what, then grab my noise and toot.

“Put her back!” I barked at my husband.

Then, right as I slipped into a deep sleep, I vaguely recall hearing my oldest, Lucy — who still prefers a crib and has never attempted to climb out — start to cry, which is rare unless she’s sick. She stopped and I drifted back to sleep until I woke up on the edgiest edge of my bed.

That’s when I found Lucy taking up 99 percent of my pillow (must be genetic), whispering and making hand gestures in the moon light.

“Honey? Do you feel OK?” I whispered.

“Yeah. Can I have cheese and crackers?”

“Uh, no.”

“Yogurt?”

“No.”

“Sucker?”

“Put her back!” I barked at my husband.

The following morning, I woke up alone as Rob had left for work long ago, and stumbled into the kitchen for coffee. It felt like a hang over. I remembered some things that night, but needed to text somebody to make sure I hadn’t flashed anyone.

That’s when my phone buzzed with a text. It was Rob.

"So, last night sucked."

"Tell me about it," I replied.

"Why did you bring Lucy into our bed?"

"Uh, what? I didn’t — you did."

"No, I didn’t," he protested.

"I vaguely remember you getting up when she was crying and going into her room — it had to be you. It wasn’t me! Wait, was it me? No, definitely you. Oh my God, this is the end."

No, this can’t be. I remember nothing. Raising small babies is like being on Ambien — we’re losing our minds. What next? They’ll find us driving around Omaha naked, covered in Big Mac crumbs?

That actually happened to my friend when they took an Ambien with red wine, so honestly, anything’s possible.

We stopped texting each other as we tried to absorb the brevity of the situation.

Our sleep deprivation had now led us to sleep walking into our children’s rooms, plucking them out of their cribs and carrying them into our bed. Like desperate, weird, co-sleeping advocate zombies.

I put my coffee cup down and tip-toed back into my room, hoping to catch a few more minutes of alarmingly important sleep before the girls woke up. Right as my head hit the pillow, I heard Lucy yell, “Moooom? Where are you?”

I guess you can’t blame a girl for trying.

***

Anna Lind Thomas is a humor writer and mom to daughters, Lucy and Poppy, and English bulldog, Bruno; wife to Rob Thomas; and founder of HaHas for HooHas. She writes for momaha.com.

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